The service was casual, it wasn't different from any other. The father, staying as strong as possible, catering to his spouse, who donned a black veil, covering her tear-drenched face. Every aunt, every niece, every nephew, gathered around the casket, which was laced in the colors of the pony who claimed it. The casket was moved to its grave spot, sitting all alone at the top of a hill, hailing a gravestone with the deceased pony's cutie mark etched in gold. Everypony began to their seats as the minister began the sermon, which had dragged on for the little children who were only there for their parents being close friends to the poor filly who had met a terrible fate. After the eulogy, the hole in the ground was sealed, along with the beautifully embroidered coffin. The crowd began to slowly deplete, eventually including the parents. However, after many long hours, one mare was left, head down in desolation, bawling.
Tears running down the big, purple eyes, the grey mare arose from her mourning and moved towards the grave, along with her cello, dragging across the soil. She drilled the cello into the ground, wiped away the tears from her eyes and straightened her bowtie. As she held the bow to the strings, the sun began to set, and the sky changed from a light blue and skewed into a beautiful light orange that shimmered off the newly polished instrument and reflected onto the fresh, dug earth.
She slowly started moving the bow to and fro, becoming more and more melodious, she moved with the tempo, each note more powerful than the last. As she picked up speed, the waves from the nearby ocean became more and more furious, crashing each and every way. The waves began to crash, and the water soared into the air, just beyond the dispirited mare. Her song was nearing it's end, the tempo began to slow and with that she became calmer, as so did the vicious tide. Ending in one long, deep droning cord, she was finished.
Her right hoof, holding the bow, dangled at her side, the other resting on the belly of the cello. She broke down, head pressed against the fingerboard, every tear flowed down it, past the bridge, off of the tailpiece, and onto the dirt mound. she released the cello, letting it drop to the ground, held the grave and whispered: "goodbye, Vinyl.", and made her way towards her empty house.
There was something off about the walk home, the mare would have to look back every few moments; she would sometimes think that she heard the clopping of the hooves behind her, sometimes she turn around in a hopeful manner, looking for a neon-maned pony to approach her and make fun of the bowtie. She knew there was no chance of her coming back, but still... She could have sworn she heard her old friend following her.
After some time, she had made her way to ponyville, not that she was looking forward to walking into a desolate home. The mare figured a way to end these problems, or at least put them off for a while, so she went to go see Berryshine for a drink or two...
2 months later
The fire, the only thing keeping the room lit, was flickering; it only had a few minutes left to burn, but she didn't care. She was curled up, facing away from the glimmering embers, empty bottle of her favorite tonic in hand; it was empty but she was doing her best to withold the fact that she was out.
This was usual behavior, she had been in this rut ever since the accident, the same thing everyday: wake up around noon, stumble towards the kitchen, open a cupboard and hopefully find a drink, lay down, pop open a bottle, and forget about all the pain. this schedule had never changed, it was so tedious that it felt, to her, like it was the same day, as I'd the drink she held in her hand was the same one she received from her friend the day she started this monotonous agenda. But of course, the large heap of hollow glasses said otherwise.
There was a knock on the door, the first sound the grungy mare had heard from another being in weeks, other accounts have included checkups from concerned friends, as she expected this to be. "Octavia! Octavia, please open the door, you haven't left the house in weeks. Everyone's concerned about you." This voice came from the widely known, ever-so-loved, Princess Twilight Sparkle. The depressed pony didn't even bat an eye, she sat in anguish, drowning out anything and everything the beloved princess had to say, the only thing that was taken into description by her was: "I'm coming back tomorrow, and this door will have to be opened, please don't let me do it by force.", then silence had finally returned.
Again, she awoke. The usual schedule: get up, get a drink, and forget. But this time was different, there was a break in her agenda, she found herself walking towards one of the wooden chairs, which bore Applejack's "lucky" lasso, which the pony had stole the night of the travesty, laying on a wooden fence while the apple farmer was inside, sheltering from the rain. The rope was fitted into a noose, ready to be hung upon the rafters of the abode. She sat there for a moment, commiting a violent act, such as this, isn't an easy decision to make.
There was a knock on the door, as expected, by Twilight. "Octavia, please, this is your last chance. Open the door, or I will have no other choice but to open it myself." Again, the pony did not move, at this point, nothing could make her move, at this point, she couldn't.
"I'm sorry I have to do this." Her horn sparkled, along with the keyhole of the door; the tumblers clicked and the door creaked open just a few inches. Twilight pushed the door open with her hoof, "Alright, come on, this is long overdu-" A shadow emanated from the fireplace, casting that of the once saddened mare, who hung from the rope that had finally ended her misery.
